


Ruff Day

by ellebeesknees (umetnica), emptydistractions



Category: Captain America (Movies), Captain America - All Media Types, Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, As In Steve Is a Literal Dog, Bucky Barnes Needs a Hug, Bucky Barnes Recovering, M/M, Magic, Natasha Romanov Is a Good Bro, POV Bucky Barnes, Post-Captain America: Civil War (Movie), Post-Captain America: The Winter Soldier, Post-Serum Steve Rogers, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, dog steve, no bestiality
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-23
Updated: 2019-06-23
Packaged: 2020-05-18 09:06:31
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 20,570
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19331452
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/umetnica/pseuds/ellebeesknees, https://archiveofourown.org/users/emptydistractions/pseuds/emptydistractions
Summary: Bucky's life is a mess: The US government's been breathing down his neck ever since his trial, the Avengers are a constant pain in his ass, and putting his brain back together hasn't exactly been a walk in the park. This wasn't exactly what he had in mind when he fled Hydra.He's doing okay, but what he doesn't need is any extra stress. And what hedefinitelydoesn't need is for Steve to tangle with an amateur sorcerer and end up a massive, overly friendly, eighty-pound, shedding, slobberingdog. That Bucky's now responsbile for. For the foreseeable future.But hey, silver lining. At least now Steve can't talk him to death.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This is my contribution to the 2019 Captain America Reverse Big Bang! Inspired by the beautiful artwork from the wonderfully talented [ellebeesknees](https://archiveofourown.org/users/umetnica/pseuds/ellebeesknees)! Find more from her [here](https://ellebeesknees.tumblr.com/)! Go see the amazing art in its full glory [here](https://ellebeesknees.tumblr.com/post/185796417057/lenadraws-one-of-my-contributions-for-the)!
> 
> Massive thank you to my lovely beta who puts in so much hard work. Thank you, Lillaby! 
> 
> And also a huge thank you to [spikey](https://archiveofourown.org/users/spikeymarshmallows/pseuds/spikeymarshmallows) for listening to all my rambling. You're the best!

* * *

 

\---

 

* * *

The barking was really his first clue that things were about to get weird. And while Bucky Barnes liked to consider himself somewhat of an expert on weird, dogs weren’t exactly in his wheelhouse. Truthfully, had he had any sense, he would have turned tail and walked straight out of Stark’s ridiculous skyscraper the moment he heard anything at all- maybe right out of the city as well. But apparently Hydra had stolen his common sense right along with the rest of him.

He could hear voices now as well, intermingled with the occasional barks, yips, and growls.

“This really can’t happen _any_ faster?” Stark. Definitely Stark. Bucky would recognize that particular self-satisfied voice anywhere.

Bucky was still in the hallway, hidden behind a curve by a bend of the wall. He’d never been one to throw away an opportunity, and going into a situation armed with knowledge was better than going in armed with only, well, _weapons_ , so he stopped and listened to the conversation. He supposed it barely even counted as eavesdropping anyway. They were practically yelling, _and_ he’d been invited in the first place.

“Out of the country doesn’t exactly mean _out of the country_ for this guy, Tony.”

“I’m aware of that, _Natasha_.” Stark definitely sounded annoyed now. “I’m just saying, is there no way we can’t just take a little astral plane field trip and-“

“-it doesn’t work that-”

Whatever Natasha had been about to respond with was lost the second she sensed Bucky’s presence. He could see the moment it happened, just a tiny jerk of her eyes in his direction. Small, but enough. No sense staying out of sight then. When he finally entered the room, he didn’t miss the way that Stark’s eyes narrowed or the tic of the muscle in his clenched jaw. Stark still didn’t like him, which was fine. The feeling was definitely mutual.

Bucky took in the rest of the room quickly; an analysis of the layout, exits points, and improvisable weapons flashing through his head in the space of a second. He blinked hard. Therapy had told him he wasn’t supposed to think that way anymore, but a year of psychobabble didn’t hold a candle to eighty years of learned behavior.

It didn’t take him long. The room was one he’d been in before; a small conference room high up in the Avengers Tower, used for after mission briefings and important meetings. Well, to be completely correct about it, he’d been in there exactly once, and _he’d_ been the subject of a very important meeting.

A long conference table and computer terminal took up most of the real estate. Natasha was sitting, arms crossed, at the head at the table, while Barton paced up and down the length of the room. Banner was buried elbow deep in a pile of esoteric-looking books, and _yep_ , there was the dog he’d heard on his way in. It was huge, coming nearly up to Bucky’s mid-thigh, with a long muzzle and large ears. Its coat, with a mottled mix of shades of brown and the markings on its face, was unique. Bucky couldn’t place it exactly with any breed he knew of, and if he had to guess, he would probably say it was some sort of mutt.

“Oh, look who finally made it,” Stark said, spinning around in his seat. He was in front of the computer terminal, electronic pages of messily scrawled notes hovering in the air in front of him. His tone was casual to the point of being flippant. “Glad you could finally join us, Robocop. And it only took you-” He made a show of glancing at the expensive watch on his wrist. Bucky’s metal fingers clenched so hard he could hear them grind together. “-thirty-five minutes. So happy you could make time in your schedule for us.”

Bucky tore his attention away from the dog. Stark was goading him and he knew it. “What’s the big emergency,” Bucky asked, teeth clenched and eyes purposefully focused somewhere over Stark’s left shoulder. Which he would very much like to dislocate. But, he did need to know. He hadn’t been here in almost a year. Not since Steve had first brought him back to the city. Not since the extradition, and the trial, and the deal with the government. He couldn’t exactly say he was pleased to be here again.

“Oh, I’m sorry.” Stark raised an eyebrow. Natasha pulled a face, but made no move to stop him. “Did we interrupt your busy day of brooding?”

“Fuck off, Stark.”

A deep, rumbling growl from the still-unexplained dog had them both snapping their heads around to look.

“Fine, fine,” Stark said, his hands up in a mock surrender, “I get it. No insulting your murder-friend.”

He seemed, as far as Bucky could tell, to be talking _to_ the dog, which was odd, even for Tony Stark. “Why was I called?” Bucky repeated again, more firmly. He’d only been here for a few minutes and he was already tired of it. He could work for years on managing his anger, but Stark would still find a way to pull it out of him every time, he was sure of it. He didn’t want to spend one more minute here than he had to.

For that matter, why were all of them here? Bucky was ashamed to admit that he’d let his annoyance with Stark win out over his ability to properly analyze the situation. He noticed for the first time that no one besides Barton was suited up. Natasha and Stark were in civilian clothes, and Banner looked like he’d just gotten out of bed. And where was Steve?

At first no one answered. The tension in the room was palpable, and every nervous shift that they made spoke volumes. Barton had frozen in his pacing, and his hands were clenching so hard they trembled. Even the dog looked troubled, something oddly human in its expression.

It was Natasha who finally broke the silence. “It’s Steve.”

For a second, Bucky couldn’t breathe. It was like something had knocked every last bit of air out of his lungs. His ears rang with the panic of it, and then the dog, which had so far stayed put, approached him cautiously and shoved its cold, wet nose into his hand. His fingers automatically searched for the soft fur on the top of its head, and a soothing feeling, almost like a sedative, washed through him.

“What happened to him?” His voice almost shook, but decades of discipline stilled it. Something like guilt boiled through his veins, but that wasn’t fair was it? He was the one who had- _no, no time to think about that now. Concentrate._

“No,” she said, and now she pointed directly at the dog by his side. “The dog. It’s _Steve_.”

His hand froze, still clutching at the dog’s silky fur. He was certain he had heard all the words Natasha had just said, but his brain refused to make sense of them. The buzzing in his ears was back, a dull tone that blocked out all other sound. He stared at the dog. It stared back at him, its black eyes huge and unblinking, just the barest hint of white showing around them. Was this a joke? He felt himself tense at the thought. Since he’d known them, these people had proven themselves occasionally obnoxious, but never cruel. Not even Stark, he grudgingly had to admit. So that only left the possibility that…

Like she was in his head, Natasha provided the rest. “It’s true.”

If he trusted any of them further than he could throw them, it would be her. “The fuck is going on?” he asked, unable to take his eyes away from the animal- _Steve Steve holy fuck it’s Steve_ \- before him. He sank slowly to his knees, putting his face level with Steve’s as he searched desperately for any hint of his friend. But there was nothing. He could only see a dog.

“It’s a long story.”

“Then either make it shorter or include the part where I start knocking skulls,” he hissed. The dog looked mournfully at him, eyes huge and watery. “What the fuck happened?”

“It was just a small time mission,” Stark said. “But even small time villains can get creative once in a while.”

“Looks like magic.” Banner’s voice took Bucky by surprise. He had almost forgotten the rest of them were there- the world had narrowed down to him, Steve, and Natasha. “Crudely done,” he continued, “but still more advanced than we normally deal with.”

“It’s my fault,” Barton cut in before Bucky could question what Banner had meant. Bucky looked over at him. Barton was leaning up against the far wall, one foot propped on the wall behind him and arms crossed over his chest. His head hung low and he looked like he wanted to fold up into himself and disappear. “I was supposed to be watching his back, but I got pinned down, and next thing I knew-” His voice was bitter as he gestured over at Steve.

Steve, who was still a _dog_ , and if that wasn’t a mindfuck Bucky didn’t know what was.

“It’s not your fault, Clint,” Natasha said gently, while Steve whined and attempted to shake his head. The action was so out of place on a dog that Bucky almost laughed.

“It could’ve happened with any of us there,” Bruce said. Bucky couldn’t help but disagree with him. It wouldn’t have happened if Bucky had been there. But he hadn’t been there had he? _And that was your choice, you chose not to be_ , his brain helpfully reminded him.

Bucky looked back at Steve, into the dark eyes that were so foreign and so familiar at the same time. “How do we fix it?” He made sure his tone brokered no argument.

Stark started to answer, but Natasha cut him off, which was probably for the best. “We’ve got the guy that did it in custody, down in the lower levels. Clint brought him in. I’ve gotten what I could out of him, but-” she paused and Bucky found himself holding his breath, bracing himself for the worst, “he’s just a kid. I don’t think he even knows what he did, much less how to fix it. Bruce is looking into leads from what little the kid did tell me.”

“Let me talk to him,” Bucky demanded, standing up. His hands went to his holstered knives on instinct. He was sure the Red Room had taught Natasha some creative interrogation techniques, but he was also sure that she wouldn’t use them while fighting with the Avengers. Bucky, however, had no such qualms.

“Not a chance, Terminator,” Stark drawled, and Bucky swallowed back the very real, very urgent desire to punch Stark into next week.

“I promise, James.” Natasha was quieter now, but the seriousness of her tone caught his attention all the same. “If there was something to get, I would have. He doesn’t know anything.”

Bucky hesitated and glanced down at Steve again, who looked up at him and then buried his nose into Bucky’s thigh. Exhaling hard, Bucky nodded.

“We’re trying to get ahold of Stephen Strange right now,” Natasha continued. “If anyone can fix this, he can. He’s just a little… unavailable at the moment.”

Bucky took another deep breath and looked at her hard. “Tell me the minute you know something.” She nodded, and he felt the oxygen rush back into his lungs as a wet, scratchy tongue licked at his palm. “So,” he continued, feeling infinitely calmer than he had only seconds ago. “If you don’t know how it happened or how to fix it, why did you call me? What can I do?”

He didn’t miss the furtive glance that somehow passed between the four of them simultaneously. Once again, Natasha took the lead, as if the group had somehow elected her their spokesperson.

“We need you to take Steve.” When his only answer was a single raised eyebrow, she continued. “Clint and I are going to be out searching for something that might help until this thing gets solved. Bruce is going to need every second for research, and Tony-”

“No,” Bucky snapped before she could finish. He put a hand possessively on Steve’s silky head, even as a voice insistently whispered that he had _no right, no right at all, what gives you the right over them_ \- “I’ll take him.”

“Of course, we’ll pay for whatever you need,” Stark said from behind him.

Bucky glared. “I don’t need your charity. I’ll be fine. _We’ll_ be fine,” he amended. There was a moment of awkward silence. At his feet, Steve whined, small and breathy. “Thank you,” Bucky grit out from between clenched teeth, “for the offer.”

Stark seemed to know better than to test him again. “No problem-o.”

“So is that it? Can I go now?” Bucky directed the question at Natasha. She looked around at the others briefly and then nodded.

“We’ll call you if we need you.”

Bucky looked down at Steve, who was sitting up straight and stiff, his doggy features set in determination. It seemed that even as a dog he was still the same old Steve. God, this was going to be weird.

“Ready to go?” he asked, and Steve gave a small _woof_ of assurance.

“Just one more thing.”

_Of course_. There was no way Stark would let him get away that easily. Bucky should have known, should have suspected. He turned warily, still on alert, but far too worn out from the strangeness of the morning thus far to be nearly as on guard as he should have been.

“You’ll need this.”

From seemingly nowhere, Stark produced a giant, nondescript canvas bag. He was so prepared, Bucky suspected he’d been hiding it since before he’d arrived, and, if the gleeful expression on his face was anything to go by, had been eagerly awaiting this moment to whip it out. The bag was so large that Bucky couldn’t image what it had even been designed to hold, because at that point, why not just hold the thing in the first place?

Bucky didn’t understand.

“The fuck is that for?”

There was a glint in Stark’s eye that he didn’t care for at all. “New York City leash law, Barnes. You do take the subway to get home, don’t you?” Bucky glared at him. “If you want to take a dog on the subway, they have to be in a bag. Wouldn’t want you two getting in trouble now.”

Stark looked entirely too pleased with himself, and at this point, Bucky was honestly too tired to even be annoyed. Instead, he wearily flipped Stark the middle finger, grabbed the canvas monstrosity from his outstretched hand, and stalked from the room, the patter of paws following behind him.

\---

“I’ll go with you.”

It wasn’t even a surprise when Natasha materialized next to him. She was good- _very_ good. He hadn’t even heard her coming, but nearly a century of training kept his heartbeat slow and his face an impassive mask. In fact, the only sign he gave that he’d heard her at all was a quick flick of his eyes, over and then back ahead.

Now that he could actually stop and look he noticed that she was dressed comfortably, in jeans and a loose t-shirt. There was a faded graphic on it- a band logo, he thought- that he could have made out had he a) cared or b) had any idea about what counted for music these days. Her red hair was pulled back into a messy bun, escaped tendrils framed her face and softened her features into something almost angelic. But he knew better. Despite her appearance, she had at least three weapons on her that his trained eyes could see, and most assuredly more that he couldn’t.

“No,” he said brusquely, quickening his pace. At his feet Steve made a disgruntled sound that Bucky knew from more than a decade of experience meant, ‘ _don’t be rude_ ’. A quick glance downward confirmed that, fur or not, Steve Rogers’ disappointed face still put grandmothers everywhere to shame.

Natasha though, could handle herself. “Come on,” she said, her voice light and teasing, with all the seriousness of before tucked away behind a mask of her own. “It’ll be fun. Besides, I don’t want to miss a second more of this then I have to.” She grinned at Steve, who huffed and turned his head away as if offended.

“I’ll pass,” Bucky replied. The three of them turned another corner down Stark’s seemingly endless hallways. Again, Bucky took great pleasure in cursing the man. _Goddamn_ , he just wanted to get to the elevator. It shouldn’t be this much effort. 

“You’re so mean, James. You could give a girl a complex, you know?” She poked out her bottom lip in a mock pout. He didn’t believe it for a second.

“My _name_ ,” he said, “is Bucky. And don’t fucking lie. You live for this shit.

Steve made a sound that Bucky chose to interpret as agreement as they finally reached the elevator. The doors opened almost as soon as Bucky pushed the button (punched it, really, but nobody said anything so he figured it probably didn’t count). He nearly tripped over Steve as he entered the elevator. He’d stopped suddenly, stock-still, in the middle of the car.

“What the fuck, Steve?” Bucky started, but his voice trailed off into silence as he realized what was happening. Like all the elevators in the building, three of the four sides of the car were mirrored. Steve was frozen, staring at his own reflection. Bucky could see the muscles bunch and tense under his fur until his body was as tight as a bowstring. For a moment there was silence.

And then, just as quickly, Steve let out a defeated sort of sigh. His muscles relaxed, and his tail and ears dropped down as he ambled forward.

“I…” Bucky found himself out of words.

Natasha, with her inscrutable expression, said nothing either. She just dropped down into a crouch and wrapped her arms around Steve, burying her face briefly in his fur. Steve whined in response and laid his head on her shoulder. Bucky felt something painful shift in his chest as he watched and quickly looked away. They stayed like that for a while, an eternity as far as Bucky was concerned, and he was just starting to fight the urge to say something to fill the uncomfortable silence when Natasha let go of Steve and stood.

“Were you planning on picking a destination at some point?” she asked.

Bucky was startled to realize that he hadn’t; he had been so absorbed in what was happening in the elevator that it hadn’t even crossed his mind. He mentally berated himself as he told the elevator to go to the first sublevel. He was letting this situation throw him off and that was bad. Could be deadly; had been in the past. Just because it was Steve didn’t mean- _shouldn’t mean_ \- anything. The semi-retired life was making him sloppy, and every bit of his brain, the parts that belonged to him and the parts that belonged to Hydra both, recoiled at the thought. _Besides_ , he reminded himself viciously, _you have less right than anyone to be upset. Not when you did what you did_.

The elevator whirred smoothly to life under their feet. He barely felt like he was moving at all, which he grudgingly had to admit was much nicer than the ones he had known back in his day. On the floor, Steve splayed his paws against the sudden shift in momentum. The speed of modern elevators was something to be admired as well, he thought, as they exited onto the first underground parking garage of Avengers Tower in what felt like only a few seconds.

“You want a lift home?” Natasha asked, twirling car keys that she’d pulled from her pocket around her finger. Bucky looked disdainfully at the bag under his right arm, then down at Steve, and then back at Natasha, who had a knowing look on her face that immediately sent Bucky’s temper up.

“We’ll take the subway,” he said tersely, and took off towards the emergency stairwell at a brisk pace. Steve hesitated momentarily before following at his heels.

“All right.” There was a faint jingling behind him as she tucked her keys back into her pocket and then followed them at a more leisurely pace. “I haven’t done that in a while. It’ll be fun.”

Bucky scowled at her words, and even though she couldn’t see his face, it made him feel a little bit better. “All that does is make me think you’ve never _been_ on a New York subway before.” She had caught up to him by then, and her only response was an infuriatingly pleasant smile. He repressed the sudden, very strong urge to scream.

His hopes that she was bluffing were dashed as she followed him up the stairs to street level, and then to the subway station, back down the stairs, and onto the platform. Bucky weighed the odds of losing her against the unpleasantness of pressing into the thick crowd of people in front of him. He scowled at her again and she grinned in response.

He could be thankful for small miracles at least, because the car that he entered wasn’t crowded. They were well past rush hour, and most of the working 9 to 5’ers of Manhattan were probably just now sitting down for their dinners. He quickly found a seat on an unoccupied bench and stared purposely off to the side as Natasha slid smoothly into the seat across from him and started to browse her phone. Steve stood between the two of them, his long, lanky body bridging the gap, and whined until Bucky looked at him.

“What?” he snapped, feeling guilty even before the word left his mouth. It probably wasn’t fair to snap at Steve. He hadn’t asked for what had happened to him, and he certainly didn’t deserve it. Undoubtedly, he didn’t deserve this either, having to stay with Bucky until Strange could sort him out. Steve whined again and nosed at Bucky’s metal flesh hand. Suddenly, Bucky remembered the bag under his arm and the purpose of it. His charitable mood vanished in an instant.

“Is this really fuckin’ necessary?” he asked in frustration as he shook out the enormous bag. Across the way Natasha shrugged at him, which only made him more annoyed at the entire situation. A man in a rumpled gray suit watched over the top of his book with interest as Bucky held out the bag to Steve. “How do you wanna do this?” Bucky asked, and Steve cocked his head before glancing between the bag and Bucky’s lap enough times to get his point across.

“No,” Bucky said firmly as he deposited the bag onto the seat next to him. “Sit there.”

“No person may bring any animal on or into any conveyance or facility unless enclosed in a container and carried in a manner which would not annoy other passengers,” Natasha said without looking up from her screen.

“What?”

“That’s what the rules say,” Natasha said, waving her phone at him. “From the Metropolitan Transport Authority. Very official. You should probably listen.”

She was getting a kick out this, he could tell. “ _No_ ,” he repeated again for emphasis.

“He has to be ‘carried in a manner which would not annoy other passengers,’” Natasha continued, as if he hadn’t spoken at all. “And I have to say, I think I’m feeling annoyed.

The man in the suit was still watching them and had lowered his book down to his lap. He wasn’t the only one. Bucky could feel more than one set of curious eyes on him, and the feeling triggered alarms somewhere deep in his mind.

“Fine!” he said furiously, moving the bag onto his lap and throwing the strap over one shoulder. “Get in here, asshole.” Across from him, Natasha lifted her eyebrows, and then subtly tilted her head to indicate the people around them. “What?” he snapped. “Like they ain’t never seen a guy talk to a dog before?”

“Probably not like that.”

Ignoring the both of them, Steve clambered up into Bucky’s lap. The bumps and rattles of the subway car made him unsteady, and combined with his already awkward command of his new body, the sight was almost comical. Steve had to use his snout to push the bag open as he tried to lay down, as Bucky refused to help with the entire matter anymore. Let Steve figure it out. This time when he felt the guilt he made sure to stamp it out.

Eventually Steve settled his unwieldy body comfortably into the bag. Even though he was a large dog, his weight on Bucky felt easy, natural. Ever since Erskine’s serum, Steve had run unnaturally hot, and now as dog, he did even more so. The heat was oddly calming, and without meaning to, Bucky found himself resting a hand on Steve’s furry head. One by one the other passengers went back to whatever they’d been doing and Bucky tried to relax. Tugging his cap down low, he idly stroked the soft fur behind Steve’s ears with his real hand as he rested his head against the metal one.

* * *

 

\---

 

* * *

Several stops came and went that way, with people entering and exiting the car as they went about their days, none the wiser that they were sharing space with Captain America and the two deadliest assassins in New York, if not the entire country. Two stops away from their destination, a young couple with a stroller and looks of twin exhaustion on their faces entered the car and Natasha offered them her seat. Bucky kept his gaze firmly away from her as she slid into the seat next to him. Steve’s eyes were closed, his black nose twitching slightly as he slept. Bucky supposed that even Captain America’s best instincts couldn’t fight a dog’s desire to nap.

He wasn’t even surprised when Natasha spoke up. He’d been expecting it since the tower, and honestly, he was stunned she’d had the restraint to not bring it up before. “You two still not talking?” she asked quietly.

Bucky glanced down at Steve, who was still sleeping soundly on his lap. His exhales blew soft puffs of air onto Bucky’s thighs that he could feel even through the fabric of his pants. There was no need to say anything; they both knew that she already knew the answer to that. Instead, he said wearily, “Wow. So you’re really planning on following me all the way home?”

“I’m just trying to help. Someone’s gotta keep track of you.”

He snorted and kicked against the side of his ankle with his right foot. The metal in the toes of his boot made a dull ringing sound when it connected with the heavy metal of his tracking bracelet. Like it’s constant weight wasn’t enough of a reminder that they were always watching him. Bucky supposed that was the price of freedom.

“Thought you already were.”

Even she had the decency to stay quiet after that. Or so he thought. She followed him silently, like a quick, deadly shadow, all the way out of the subway station into the muggy night and the three block walk to his crappy apartment. Steve had argued with him about the place when he’d first moved in. Back before everything had gone sour. But Bucky liked it. He liked the cracked sidewalk in front and the elevators that never worked and the stairs that creaked underfoot like they were about to give way. He liked the landlord who took his rent in cash and the neighbors who never asked questions, and he even liked the faint smell of mildew that lingered about the building even when it hadn’t rained for weeks. It wasn’t a nice place at all, but it was exactly where he should be. Steve hadn’t understood that.

And still didn’t, if the disdainful sniffs coming from down near Bucky’s feet were anything to go by. The stairwell was dark, the lights all burnt out or broken, as they made their way to the very top floor. Bucky was still a sniper at heart, and high places made him feel safe.

“You know,” Natasha said into the darkness. Her voice was less than a whisper, meant for Bucky’s ears alone. Bucky sighed internally. He’d always thought of her as quiet, but she was turning out to be worse than Stark. “You almost killed someone that I love.” She glanced down at Steve, who was a few steps behind them, working out how to use stairs as a dog. “Several someones.”

He pursed his lips. “Do you want me to be sorry? Let me guess, you’re going to tell me you forgive me because Steve said it wasn’t really _really_ me.”

She was silent for a moment. And then, to his shock, she said, “But it was you.” He glanced sharply at her as she continued. “They may have made you do it, but it was you. Nothing changes that.” And now her eyes were on him, bright green and startling in their intensity. “Steve can be in denial all he wants, but I know. It will always be you just like it will always be me.”

He couldn’t take it, had to turn away. Steve was looking up at them curiously, ears up and alert. “Great,” Bucky said, at a normal tone that seemed to cut the tension in the dark stairwell. “Thank you for the therapy session. You can mail me the bill.” To his immense relief they had finally reached the top of the stairs, and as he stepped foot on the landing he whirled around quickly, blocking her. “There,” he said. “I’m home. Steve’s here. No one’s dead or maimed, you can leave now.”

She didn’t leave, because of course she didn’t. He would never be that lucky. He was tired of words- they’d gotten him absolutely nowhere today. Instead, he turned his back on her, every fiber of his being concentrating on ignoring her thoroughly as he unlocked his front door. He felt a strange wave of relief as the door swung open and he stepped across the threshold. The building may have been a dump, but this place was home, or as much of a home as he’d had since he left for war. He felt himself bristle when Natasha followed him, though he knew he shouldn’t have expected her to ask permission. Behind her, Steve padded into the apartment and immediately realized that something was wrong. Steve dropped low to the ground, his hackles raised and teeth bared in a low growl as a black blur streaked across the living room under their feet and out the open door.

The cat. Bucky had forgotten about the cat.

“Fuck!” Bucky said as Steve stood sheepishly. Bucky poked his head out the door and glanced down the stairwell, but the cat was gone. Not that he blamed it. He probably would’ve run too given the choice.

“Was that a cat?”

Bucky jerked away as Natasha came up behind him to peer down the stairs as well. “Yes,” he said gruffly as she darted inside before him. He shut the door harder than was probably strictly necessary.

“You have a cat?” She seemed delighted with the news for some reason that was beyond his comprehension.

“Yes.”

“ _You?_ ”

He glared at her and stuck out the middle finger of his metal hand. “And you have Barton. So I guess we’ve all got things we’re not proud of.”

It annoyed him, ate at something deep inside him, that the thought of him having a pet, let alone a cat, was apparently outlandish enough to be a source of amusement. Why shouldn’t he? And what was he supposed to say? That he hadn’t been able to let the kitten with the broken leg just die in the gutter? That keeping something alive besides himself filled in the hole that’s inside him just a little bit? That even the fucking Winter Soldier got lonely.

To Natasha’s credit she read the change in his mood as swiftly as it happened. He watched as she glanced around the apartment, and then at him and Steve, who was sitting on the ground looking as concerned as Bucky had ever seen a dog look. “Are you sure you don’t need anything, James?” she asked quietly.

He took the apology as what it was. “It’s Bucky. And we’re good.”

Steve whined softly and pushed his nose into her hand as Natasha knelt down to say goodbye. She ruffled his ears with her hands and stroked the fur over his eyes. “Strange and Tony are both working on it, Steve. We’ll get you back to normal soon. In fact,” she smiled and winked at him, “I promise I won’t let them sleep until they’ve figured it out.”

With one last pat on his head she stood, nodded at Bucky, and left. He stood still, listening until the sound of her footsteps on the old stairs became too distant for him to hear. Finally, when he was sure she was gone, Bucky started to move again. He switched on the lone overhead light in the living room. Its meager light did little more than emphasize how dark it actually was. Night had fully fallen some time ago, and Bucky, who was used to the dark, didn’t have much to work with. He flipped on a few seldom used lamps, and added the buzzing overhead fluorescent in the kitchen for good measure. It didn’t do much, but it was at least better than nothing.

Watching Steve look around the apartment, Bucky saw how it must look through his eyes. The apartment was small, more of a glorified closet than anything. The tiny living room was almost completely filled by a couch, with a small coffee table shoved against the wall that had come along with the kitchen appliances when he’d rented the place. The kitchen itself was little more than a counter, with an ancient two-burner stove and a refrigerator so old that the fact that it was running at probably counted as a minor miracle. 

It was only after he had attended to the lights that the awkwardness began to settle in. Steve had moved from his spot by the door and was now sitting tensely in front of the old, ratty couch They stared each other down for one tense minute and then another and another. Steve eyes were wide and he had an uncomfortable look on his face. Bucky got a sense that he was trying to hold something back. Which… well he didn’t exactly have a fucking choice did he?

The clock on the kitchen wall ticked loudly. Had it always been so loud? Bucky’s metal fingers twitched with the sudden impulse to tear it off the wall. But he didn’t, and the agonizingly slow tick of the second hand gave him an idea.

“Hey,” he said, and Steve’s ears twitched upward in attention. “You hungry at all?”

Bucky wasn’t particularly hungry himself. He could survive on very little, and had survived on amounts that would have made even his poorer younger self recoil in horror. But ever since he’d started putting his mind back together, he thought maybe he remembered liking cooking. There were vague wisps of memory buried deep: the dry heat of an oven, flour on an apron, a woman’s soft voice. His mother’s probably. Just something else Hydra had taken from him.

“So how ‘bout it?”

Steve’s ear twitched again and he gave a small bark in response.

“Alright,” Bucky said, just managing to keep the relief at having something to do out of his voice. “Just uh, give me a second to grab something.”

Steve’s muscles untensed and he laid his head down on the floor.”

“Uhh,” Bucky added at the last second. “You can get on the couch. It’s old as shit, not like the fur’s gonna make it any worse.”

Steve nodded, which _again_ , bizarre to see a dog nod, and then leaped up on the couch. It was more graceful than anything Bucky had seen thus far out of him. It seemed Steve was slowly getting used to his new body. Bucky couldn’t help but shudder at the thought. He’d felt a lot of things in the past century. He had done things to people’s bodies and people had done things to his in turn. But at least it had always been _his_ body, even if he hadn’t always been the one in control. He couldn’t imagine the feeling of his body just being …gone. He imaged maybe it was a bit like when he’d woken up without his arm. The memory was hazy, fractured and disjointed, but the feeling of shock and an overwhelming wrongness still permeated it. He prayed that wasn’t how Steve felt.

“Here,” he said when he’d returned, two packages in hand. For a moment he held one out towards Steve, who stared at his hand, and then gave a soft whine. “Shit,” Bucky cursed, realizing his blunder. _Stupid_. What had he been expecting? “Sorry,” he muttered before trying again. “So I got two. Which one do you want?” He held both up and waited for Steve to decide.

Steve looked at the meals, then at Bucky before dropping his head dramatically back onto the couch and heaving a great, gusty sigh that turned into a whine that was just barely audible over the sound of the ancient window unit. Bucky lowered his hands and looked at Steve with pursed lips.

“What, you too good for an MRE now? Back when we were stormin’ Hydra bases and sleepin’ in the mud every night we woulda killed for these, Steve.” Steve whined again, and Bucky felt a tickle of annoyance. “Well it’s what I fucking have alright. I havent’ exactly had time to be Betty fucking Crocker what with the eighty years of mental and physical trauma and all.” 

Steve lowered his ears and his tail disappeared between his legs. He seemed to shrink into himself and be sinking back into the couch, which how that was possible given he was an eighty fucking pound dog Bucky had no idea.

“That’s... Fuck, sorry okay. I’m a little on edge if you haven’t noticed.” He didn’t stop to think about what it said about him, eating a steady supply of MRE’s like he was still a soldier hoofing it behind enemy lines. “I really don’t have anything else though.”

Bucky wondered if it was even possible for a dog to raise its eyebrows. Or if dogs even _had_ eyebrows. Regardless, he was pretty sure Steve was doing just that. Bucky refused to be shamed by Steve’s maybe-maybe-not eyebrow raise and stared back, refusing to back down until Steve gave a disgruntled _harrumph_ and closed his eyes.

Now that he had won what had to be the weirdest stare-off of his life, Bucky turned his thoughts back to the matter of food. For a moment he considered just letting Steve go hungry. It’d probably serve him right for turning his nose up at a perfectly good MRE. His mouth twisted in a frown as he thought. The Steve he had known would never have even thought of refusing food, no matter how unappetizing. Bucky supposed that was what growing up poor did to a person.

So why was he doing it now? Bucky looked over at Steve out of the corner of his eye. He was still on the couch, head laid on his paws and eyes still closed, slowly but surely layering the couch with a new fur upholstery. Bucky sighed and watched as Steve’s ears twitched at the sound. It wasn’t like Steve could explain himself right now, and Bucky didn’t know if he should even bother to ask. Maybe that was just what Steve was like now. Maybe all this living in the future and shacking up with the Avengers had finally gotten to him. It wasn’t like Bucky would know. The last time he’d seen Steve (pre-dog phase) had been nearly a month and a half ago, and it had been even longer since the two of them had exchanged anything more meaningful than polite ‘how are you’s.

“There’s a deli down the block,” he said, swallowing back all the words that he might have said instead. “That work all right for you, _your highness?_ ”

Bucky assumed the answer was a resounding yes if the way Steve immediately leapt up and bounded off the couch was anything to go by.

“Am I…” Bucky paused with his hand on the doorknob after grabbing his wallet and giving the place a quick once-over before they left. Behind him, Steve huffed hot doggy breaths all over the back of his knees. “…am I supposed to put you on a leash?”

The excited panting was replaced by a gruff bark that sounded very much like, ‘ _Do it and I, Steven Grant Rogers, will never ever let you forget for the rest of our days on this planet, and maybe after that too_ ’. Bucky privately agreed. There were some things a man’s dignity just couldn’t take, and he was pretty sure that- dog or not- being led around New York on a leash was one of them.


	2. Chapter 2

He’d found the deli on the corner the first night he’d moved in, and it had since become a regular stop for him. The inside was crowded and probably not up to health code, but the food was always good and the man behind the counter never asked any questions beyond a grumpy ‘what do you want’. It was perfect and Bucky loved it. It felt like home.

An ancient bell over the door jangled as Bucky came inside, Steve at his heels. Even with it being far past dinner time, the deli had a fair amount of customers. A woman came in behind him and eyed Steve suspiciously, but didn’t say anything. The man behind the counter didn’t seem to care if there was a dog in his store or not. Truthfully, Bucky hadn’t even considered the fact that Steve might not be allowed; it was something he’d have to be more careful about. Just one more thing to worry about in this whole ridiculous situation.

“What d’ya want?” Bucky asked Steve absentmindedly. Almost as soon as he said it, he realized his mistake and tried to cover. “Just nod if it’s what you want,” he said, watching Steve’s expression carefully. Thankfully, Steve only made him go through about half a dozen options before picking something. 

It seemed the woman in front of him could hold her tongue no longer and she turned and stared at Bucky distastefully. She was nearly a foot shorter than him, blonde hair pulled back in a tight ponytail, and covered head to toe in black and neon pink running gear. All in all, it wasn’t a particularly intimidating image.

“You know that all this stuff’s bad for dogs, right?” It definitely wasn’t so much a question as it was a very pointed insult to his intellect. “It could make him really sick.”

At his side Steve bristled at her words. Bucky placed a gentle hand on Steve’s head and arranged his face into the most bland smile he could manage. “Yeah, I know,” he told her brightly. “I’m hoping it’ll finally kill him and save me the trouble.”

He got one good look at her shocked expression and then it was her turn at the counter. He waited another minute, and then it was his. While they waited for their food, Bucky leaned against a shelf stocked with dried goods and examined the place idly. He had already scanned the room the moment he’d walked in, clocked all possible weapons and egress points, but doing it again brought him some rare sense of tranquility. And besides, a little extra vigilance never hurt anybody. He knew it was just another hold-over from Hydra, but it wasn’t even close to the worst one, so he didn’t fight it.

He was just eyeing a man with faded jeans and a buzz cut who was rooting through the freezer for possible weapons when he felt something cold and wet in his hand. He looked down and Steve pushed his nose more firmly against Bucky’s palm. He didn’t look upset and he wasn’t making any noise. Bucky was about to ask what was wrong when the man behind the counter shoved a wrapped parcel into his other hand. Steve stood, shaking out his fur and leaving Bucky’s hand slightly damp, before stalking to the front door like he thought he’d be able to open it with sheer willpower alone.

\---

They took the food back to the apartment, and Bucky had weighed the options of having to hand-feed Steve or letting him choke to death on an entire sandwich. Steve, thankfully, had taken the decision out of his hands and managed to eat the sandwich on his own, though not without covering Bucky’s couch in a sad mixture of mustard and wet bread. Bucky eyed the stain on the cushion as Steve licked his chops, and wearily decided that he’d just turn the cushion over in the morning and hope there wasn’t anything worse on the other side.

His own stomach contentedly full, Bucky had decided that he wasn’t going to let the strangeness of the day keep him from his normal routines. He made his way around the apartment, checking and double-checking his locks. He’d picked up a few tricks during his time with Hydra that he still employed. Warning systems mostly, to let him know if someone had been in the place while he’d been gone. On any other person it might have been called paranoia, but Bucky considered it basic necessity.

Or at least, that’s what he liked to tell himself. He was acutely aware of Steve’s eyes on him as he went from room to room, carefully checking his meticulously laid setups. He didn’t even have to wonder what Steve was thinking as he watched; he already knew. The empty apartment, the locks, the traps. It was what he knew. It was _all_ he knew, and dammit Bucky was trying, but it coming back to New York, being back around real people all the time, had been hard enough without having to change everything about himself. He caught a quick glimpse of Steve’s eyes as he passed, and had to quickly look away before he could read too far into what he saw there. He didn’t know exactly how he’d react if it had been sadness, or pity, and he wasn’t keen on finding out.

A sudden whine caught his attention and stalled him on his path of what would have turned out to be very ugly thoughts. When he looked up, Steve was pacing back and forth, tail tucked between his legs and ears drooping.

“What is it?” he asked, and Steve whined again. He was still pacing as Bucky eased himself off of the counter to slowly approach him. “You okay?” he asked hesitantly, and Steve snuffled in an annoyed way. Bucky felt something in his chest loosen at the sound; at least Steve wasn’t hurt. He watched as Steve walked back and forth between the couch and the bathroom door, over and over again.

_The bathroom door. ___

__“Oh,” Bucky said, suddenly feeling very awkward. It wasn’t exactly something he was used to, and he wasn’t sure he liked it very much at all. “You need to… all right. Got it. Um, do you want me to… open the door for you?”_ _

__Steve stopped his pacing and stared at Bucky in irritation. Bucky suppressed a grimace. Yeah. That wasn’t going to work._ _

__“I’ll just take you outside then?” God, this whole thing was so incredibly awkward. He felt the sudden, very strong desire to sink into the floor. He also couldn’t believe that he hadn’t anticipated this problem in the first place. But then again, his brain had been a little too concentrated on the absurdity of the situation as a whole to have been of much use in the past few hours. The Winter Soldier, undone by a dog. If only Pierce could see him now._ _

__Steve sneezed loudly from the spot he’d now taken up by the door, pacing in a tight circle, clearly impatient. The sound spurred Bucky back into action. “Sorry, sorry,” he muttered. “ I didn’t even think- doesn’t matter. Come on.”_ _

__He opened the door and Steve flew down the stairs in the front of him. Bucky hurriedly followed after him, mentally berating himself for not considering how they’d handle a basic fucking bodily function. Maybe his retirement had dulled him more than he’d thought. Steve’s pace slowed as they finally got out on the sidewalk, and Bucky walked him down the street to a small patch of grass. Best they’d probably get in this part of the city._ _

__Now that they were there, Steve wavered, clearly uncertain about the whole thing. He looked up at Bucky with a concerned expression on his canine face. “What?” Bucky said. “You want my permission or something to take a piss?”_ _

__That did it. Steve sniffed disdainfully and trotted off. Bucky crossed his arms over his chest and turned his back to give Steve some semblance of privacy, or at least as much as he could get on a city street at night in New York. A minute later, Bucky felt the brush of Steve’s furry head against the leg of his jeans. Steve sat at Bucky’s feet expecting- what exactly he expected Bucky didn’t know._ _

__“You waiting for a fucking treat or somethin’?” Bucky asked in irritation. He was tired. The day had been long, and having to guess his way through one-sided conversations was starting to get old. “If you’re done, let’s go.” Steve huffed loudly, and Bucky narrowed his eyes at him. “You think I’m picking up after you, you got another thing comin’.”_ _

__Steve huffed again and walked away, tail held high in defiance as Bucky followed him. Why the hell Steven ‘I’ve-Never-Followed-the-Rules-Once-In-My-Goddamn-Life’ Rogers thought now was a good time to start adhering to them was beyond Bucky’s current level of understanding, but no fucking way was that a thing that was going to happen. He said all of that to Steve, loudly and with emphasis, as they climbed the stairs back up to his apartment._ _

__It was nearing two in the morning, and Bucky, who had probably gotten softer about sleep than he should have since he’d been back, was tired. He stifled a yawn as he eyed the living room, and decided he’d worry about cleaning it tomorrow. Or maybe he wouldn’t. After all, he had the choice now._ _

__After leaving a bowl of water and a bowl of food in the hallway for the cat, Bucky dug around in his spare closet for something to give Steve. He was able to scrounge up a blanket he hadn’t known that he owned, and pulled one of the two pillows off his own bed for Steve. After briefly considering the best way to approach it, he settled for laying the blanket out on the couch with the pillow on top of it. He was sure Steve could figure it out from there. Steve eyed the couch Bucky had just set up with a strange look on his face._ _

__Bucky, for his part, was too tired to try and read any more facial expressions. He wasn’t great at it on a good day, and the addition of fur wasn’t helping. “I’m going to bed,” he announced. It was strange, having to account for his actions in his own home. Steve followed him, and Bucky sighed internally before turning. “No,” he said tersely. Steve stared back with determination. “No,” Bucky repeated again. “Sleep on the couch. It’s my bed and I’m keeping it.”_ _

__He punctuated his statement by closing the bedroom door in Steve’s face and twisting the lock on the knob. He waited for a second- for what he wasn’t sure- whining maybe, or a paw scratching at the door, but there was nothing. He finally let out the sigh he’d been holding back for most of the night._ _

__The darkness of his room seemed to swallow the sound, and he was glad for it. There was something calming about the dark and the quiet. It made him think of the mask and the tank and long stretches of years in deep freeze, but there was something strangely comforting about it. There was probably something wrong with him, he’d known it for awhile, but he grabbed onto things that comforted him, even when they probably shouldn’t have, with both hands._ _

__He looked longingly at his bed. The rumpled sheets and worn mattress beckoned him invitingly, but he steeled himself against the urge to sleep away the strangeness of the day. Instead, he crossed the room to the sole window, disengaged the locks, and yanked it open. The air that came in wasn’t exactly what he’d call fresh, but the slight breeze felt good against his skin. He tucked his hair back behind his ears and patted down his pockets, checking for the weapons he knew were tucked into his waistband. He smiled slightly as he felt the familiar shapes of his knives, the feel of them like greeting an old friend._ _

__Only one thing left then. Pulling up the cuff on the left leg of his jeans, Bucky pursed his lips in annoyance at the heavy metal bracelet locked around his ankle. For all that it weighed, it was relatively slim, its smooth metal only interrupted by a blinking green LED. He knew from experience that the second Stark’s AI thought he’d wandered somewhere he wasn’t supposed to, the light would turn red and he’d end up with at least two Avengers on his tail and a whole lot of angry politicians demanding his head._ _

__It had been beyond annoying at first, as he’d discovered the invisible boundaries the government had decreed and that Stark had carried out. There didn’t seem to be a rhyme or reason to it, and places that were fine one day would be off-limits the next based on his previous movements. It was supposed to be more than just a simple tracker. It was something that would predict his movements and detect suspicious activity. What it actually ended up being was a pain in his ass._ _

__But he had something Stark didn’t have. Time. And a lot of it, now that the US government had deemed him officially retired. (They’d been aiming for ‘officially dead’ but Bucky had a feeling that Steve had put his foot down immediately on that one.) It had taken him almost a month, but Bucky had finally been able to remove the bracelet without tripping the alarm, and he’d used his new skill liberally. He liked to think he was doing Steve and his friends a favor. It was much easier to monitor a man who spent most of his time in his apartment. Besides, what they didn’t know wouldn’t hurt them. He smiled to himself as he carefully pried the metal band open and tucked it into his dresser._ _

__Finally, satisfied everything was in place, he grabbed a cap off his dresser and pulled it down low over his eyes before hefting himself up and out the window in one fluid movement. He paused there, holding onto the sill with just his fingertips as he listened for any noise from inside his apartment. There was nothing; he’d been quiet enough not to alert Steve. Good. Bucky didn’t need the extra headache right now. Things were complicated enough._ _

__Once he hit the street, Bucky tugged his sleeves firmly downward, making sure the fabric covered where the material of his gloves ended, making sure the metal of the arm was hidden. He twisted his lips in annoyance. It wasn’t hot this time of year, but it wasn’t exactly cool either. He wasn’t sure how he’d handle long sleeves when the hot, muggy months of summer set in. Something else he needed to figure out sooner rather than later._ _

__The subway car was almost completely empty; its sole occupant a tired-looking woman in pink scrubs who seemed even less interested in him than he was in her. As the car rocked gently back and forth, Bucky sat back and considered his plan. It had been brewing in his head all day, ever since he’d seen what had been done to Steve, and had finally come to fruition sometime between the first and last bites of his sandwich._ _

__It was the work of a few minutes to disable the electronic lock on one of the many service doors that made up the back of Avengers Tower. The security down here wasn’t as fancy or meticulous as the upper floors, but it was still good. But Bucky was better, and he’d learned a few things from tinkering with Tony’s toy on his ankle for so long. Jarvis had been the hardest one to figure out, and to be honest he still wasn’t sure that this whole thing wouldn’t end up with him in a cell too. He slipped into the building and closed the door silently behind him. He froze for a second, listening hard, but nothing happened. No shrieking alarms or AI alerting anyone to his presence. At least not that he could hear._ _

__He let out a sigh of relief. It had been the one part he wasn’t completely sure about it, but as far as he could tell Jarvis didn’t know he was there. Good. Now he just had to keep it that way._ _

__It was surprisingly easy to find what he was looking for. On sublevel 3, behind a heavy steel door, Bucky found the person he was after. He was… young. Very young. Bucky hadn’t been expecting that. It wasn’t something that would have stopped the Winter Soldier, but it did stop Bucky Barnes, even if just for a second. But he had come here with a job to do, and he was going to do it._ _

__He had been silent up until this point while he had disabled any audio or video recording devices he came across, but now he wanted to make his presence known. The metal on metal screech that filled the air as he pulled aside the heavy steel door set his nerves on edge. He could feel the reverberation in the roots of his teeth. The young man, who had been lying forlornly on what passed for a bed in his prison cell, jumped up in surprise._ _

__“Shhh,” Bucky ordered him, metal finger to his lips as the sounds of rending metal faded away. The young man- God, he was practically a child- froze in place, eyes wide and startled. Hard to believe that this was the person who had taken down Captain America. “Sit,” Bucky instructed him, pointing to the bed._ _

__“Who are-“_ _

__“I said, _sit_.” Bucky repeated himself, allowing just the vaguest hint of irritation into his voice._ _

__The man dropped back onto his bed with a thump. Bucky took the moment to study him. The man was long and lanky, and held himself awkwardly, like someone who’d never quite grown into their own body. His face, skin still smooth and unlined by age, was dominated by a nose that was just a touch too big, and his head was covered by a mop of unruly auburn hair._ _

__“What’s your name?” Bucky asked him. He leaned casually against the door he’d just partially destroyed and pulled a knife out of its hidden holder on his waistband. He flipped the blade idly between his fingers, a trick he’d been doing for so long it was practically autopilot at this point, but it got the job done. The man’s frightened green eyes were fixated on the blade as it twirled. “And don’t give me some bullshit, super-villain name either, I mean your _real_ name.”_ _

__The young man swallowed audibly, and then said in a hoarse whisper, “David.”_ _

__Bucky kept his face carefully composed, giving away nothing. He never did. “How old are you?”_ _

__“Twenty-two.”_ _

___Jesus Christ, that was young_. Visions of his past interrogations with Hydra flashed through Bucky’s mind, and he felt his skin crawl. He leveled another careful look at David. The kid was glued to Bucky’s every move, his muscles held so tight he looked like he might snap in half at the slightest movement. Bucky was pretty sure he wouldn’t have lasted for two minutes in a Hydra interrogation. There were plenty who hadn’t._ _

__“Have you ever heard of the Winter Soldier, David?” Bucky let his next words come out slowly. Casually, he let the knife spin to a perfect standstill on one fingertip, before he flipped it up and over to start again._ _

__“Of course I have.” David had apparently reached the babbling stage of fear. “Everyone’s heard of the Winter Soldier. I mean, after DC-” He stopped suddenly, his eyes wide and panicky._ _

__Bucky gave him a smile; the one that Rumlow used to say was better than a gun in the face for making a grown man shit his pants. More than one man had died with the image of that smile burned into their brains. The kid looked terrified out of his mind now. His chest hitched as his breath came fast and shallow. _Good_. It would make this next part easier. Proud men lied. Scared men just wanted to live. And Bucky could work with that._ _

__“I know what happened today. With Captain America.” Bucky tipped his head back against the door, the very picture of nonchalance. He watched with a bored gaze as David swallowed hard and seemed to hunch in on himself, as if he was trying his best to tuck into a ball and disappear. “I know you already talked to Black Widow. Told her you didn’t know anything.”_ _

__Bucky pushed off against the door, and in two quick strides he was standing in front of David. In this position Bucky towered over him. He knew what he looked like right now, all bulk and muscle, the single light in the room shining brightly somewhere behind him. His face would be cast all in shadow, hair obscuring what the dark didn’t. He only held it for a second; the kid was already terrified, and Bucky was at least hoping to get something semi-coherent out of him. Instead, he dropped to a crouch in front of David, putting them eye-to-eye. The knife dangled loosely from his fingertips, still very much on display._ _

__“I just wanted to ask you one more time, David,” Bucky said slowly, making sure he held David’s gaze without so much as a blink. “Are you sure there isn’t anything else you wanna tell me?” He stretched his lips into a wide, predatory smile. “Friend to friend?”_ _

__David was pale, sweat beading at his temples. The words came out of him so fast that he seemed to trip over his own tongue. “No, no, I swear, I don’t know how to undo it! I’m sorry, I just- I needed the money and it got out of hand, and it was supposed to be a temporary paralysis spell, but I messed it up, I always fuck everything up, and then there was a dog, and I didn’t mean to I _swear_ , I didn’t mean to, please-”_ _

__Bucky held up one hand and David stopped his babbling as if someone had just hit the pause button. “I don’t give a shit what you did or why you did it. I just need to know if you’re telling the truth. _Can you fix him? _” He dropped the smile and stared at David coldly. “The Avengers won’t hurt you. Not even to get information from you. But I’m not an Avenger.”___ _

____There were tears streaming down David’s face now. Bucky doubted he was even aware of them. He wondered again how the hell Steve had let this _child_ get the drop on him. “I can’t, I’m sorry. I don’t even know what went wrong.”_ _ _ _

____As he watched David shake his head emphatically, he already knew the kid wasn’t lying. Truth be told, he had known somewhere within the first few seconds of hearing him speak, but he had to be sure. Even if things between them weren’t what they used to- maybe never would be again- this was still _Steve_. He wasn’t sure if he had expected anything out of this, but he couldn’t help the small ember of pride deep in his chest. Maybe he was retired. Maybe he was useless. This though, this he could still do. And he hadn’t had to hurt anyone to do it._ _ _ _

____In front of him David’s tears had stopped, though his face was still wet and shiny. Bucky got to his feet suppressing a groan. His knees weren’t quite what they used to be either, it seemed. He holstered his knife and nodded at David, a transaction completed._ _ _ _

____“You have a nice night.”_ _ _ _

____He was already halfway out the door when from behind him, a wavery voice asked, “Do you think they’ll let me out of here soon?”_ _ _ _

____For a moment, Bucky contemplated telling him something that might make him feel better. But scared or not, at the end of the day, this was still the person who had royally fucked Steve over. Without turning back to face him, Bucky put one hand at his waist, where his knife was now securely tucked away, and said, “For your sake, you better hope they don’t.”_ _ _ _

____It was the work of less than a minute to pull the door shut. The metal had several neat fingermarks where his hands had gripped it, and the whole thing would have to be removed in order to get into the cell. But at least David wasn’t going anywhere tonight. He’d let Stark figure it out in the morning._ _ _ _

______ _ _

\---

______ _ _

____Exhaustion tugged at his eyelids on the way home as the soft rocking of the subway car lulled the passengers into calm and quiet. Bucky sat, whole body sagging against the hard plastic seat, as his mind raced despite his fatigue. This morning he couldn’t even have remembered what the last thing he had said to Steve was, and now Steve was asleep on his couch. Steve, who was currently a _dog_. He groaned. Was it too late to just get out of the whole thing, just drop Steve off at Barton’s and be done with it? He was struck with the feeling of being a teenager again, in trouble for something that had inevitably been Steve’s idea. Steve had always been the one to get them into trouble, while Bucky had had to be the expert on getting them back _out_._ _ _ _

____The feeling came along with another one, a faint sort of melancholy that made his mouth twist downwards at the corners. The feelings he was remembering, those weren’t real anymore. Steve wasn’t the same Steve that he’d been back then, and whoever he was now, Bucky didn’t know that person either. _But you did that_ , a small voice in the back of his mind persisted, _that was your decision, you told him you wanted space.__ _ _ _

____And it had been a _good_ decision at the time. Every fiber of Bucky’s being was certain about that. He’d needed that space. For months after he’d gotten back, he’d spent every day putting the pieces of himself back together, bit by painful bit. And he still wasn’t all the way back together yet, but that didn’t mean..._ _ _ _

____Well, maybe it didn’t matter anyway._ _ _ _

____When he got back into the apartment (through a climb up to his bedroom window that was decidedly more tiring than his jump down), he quietly poked his head into the living room to check on Steve. He was, unfortunately, still a dog, not that Bucky had expected anything else, but hope sprang eternal he supposed. Steve was still on the couch, curled up into a little ball with his head resting neatly on his paws. Every few minutes he snuffled loudly like he was having a dream. The pillow and blanket that Bucky had left out for him still sat neatly on one end of the couch, and Bucky considered stealing the pillow back before he decided against it. Even if he was out of practice, he was pretty sure he was still a better friend than that._ _ _ _


	3. Chapter 3

_Fuck_.

Bucky woke the next morning covered in a cold sweat, chest heaving as shapeless, nameless horrors fled from behind his eyelids like rats leaving a sinking ship. They were gone before he could grasp them. Not that he wanted to. He knew with certainty that they’ll be back again the next time he slept. In those few seconds of waking terror, before he’d come back to himself, he’d gotten halfway out of bed. He flopped back down onto the sweat-soaked sheets and concentrated on controlling his breathing.

To be honest, he was kind of proud of himself. He’s getting- not better, that’s not the right word- but maybe… accustomed. He’s getting accustomed to the night terrors and the subsequent wake up that leave him feeling like he’s got the world’s worst hangover. He even managed to stay in his room this time, barely got out of bed even. The first night in this apartment, after everything that had happened with Stark and Steve and his extradition deal and all the legal headache that had come along with it, he’d woken up screaming and been halfway down the block before the bright neon lights and the heavy weight of the ankle bracelet had reminded him of where (and _when _) he was. That had resulted in a very unpleasant visit from several very armed Avengers.__

__Now, finally, his breathing slowed to something more acceptable. The sweat was already drying on his skin and he felt sticky all over, not to mention still filthy from last night’s midnight climb up to his window. He considered just going back to sleep, but the pale morning sun streaming into his room convinced him otherwise._ _

__The first thing he saw when he unlocked his door was a big, black snout filling his vision as Steve bounded towards him, all excitement (and possibly boredom). Glancing at the clock, Bucky saw that his little midnight escapade had left him sleeping in longer than he’d intended. Steve watched forlornly as Bucky shrugged him off, shoving past him to the kitchen for some much-needed coffee._ _

__“How was the night?” Bucky asked, busying himself with the coffee maker. There was a soft grumble from behind him, and he allowed himself a small smile. “Super fuckin’ weird would be my guess.”_ _

__Steve let out a soft yip of agreement as the coffee maker started brewing loudly. Overnight, something had eaten the food he left out for the cat, but there was still no sign of the beast. Bucky sighed. He’d have to leave more food out tonight. Soon he’d be feeding every stray cat in the damn neighborhood._ _

__It was getting on in the morning, and again he chided himself for his lack of discipline in sleeping in. He’s still got to exercise, as it’s something he can’t skip. Not if he wants to keep up the muscle mass needed to support his arm. He sighed again, everything in him telling him to just go back to bed. The universe was making it pretty clear what kind of day it was going to be._ _

__By the time he’d let Steve out, fed them both some of last night’s leftovers, and run through his usual fitness routines (with Steve first trying to participate, and then upon realizing he couldn’t, settling in for a very uncomfortable staring session instead) it was nearly 11am._ _

__Bucky glanced furtively at the clock on his kitchen wall, torn on what to do. Eyeing the ticking second hand with a kind of grim determination, he considered his options. It wasn’t something the Avengers knew about. He was sure, he’d _made_ sure._ _

___But it’s Steve_ , some far-away part of himself said._ _

___But you don’t know Steve anymore_ , a far more vicious voice, one that sounded unsettlingly like Pierce, reminded him._ _

__Fuck it, Bucky decided. He’s going. The day he starts listening to the voices in his head is the day he gives up for good._ _

__Steve followed him around the apartment, watching curiously as Bucky pulled on faded jeans and a non-descript gray sweater. It was just short of summer, and he’ll definitely get uncomfortable, but it’s worth it to hide the arm from any prying eyes. No need to draw any unwanted attention to himself. He pulled his hair into a low knot and tucked it under the hat from last night. He needed a haircut, he thought absentmindedly, as wisps of hair escaped from the tie to fall into his face._ _

__At one point he ducked into the bathroom under the guise of brushing his teeth, which, to be fair, he did do, and pried off the metal bracelet again. The metal squeaked as it came apart. Bucky inspected it and winced at how worn it looked, far more than it should have for the quality of work put into it. He shelved the thought to deal with later._ _

__At the front door he hesitated, wondering briefly what to tell Steve, before he realized he didn’t have to tell him anything at all. That was his right, after all. It was his business, and he didn’t owe Steve anything. (Except his life two times over but… minor details.)_ _

__“I’m going out.”_ _

__Steve leaped off the couch, sending fur flying in all directions. At this point, Bucky would need an exorcist to clean the damn place when this was all over._ _

__“No,” he said, immediately feeling like an asshole despite his resolution not to. Steve stopped short at the order, his eyes big and ears held tense, a look of pure consternation on his doggy face. “You’re not going,” Bucky continued. Steve sneezed and lifted a paw as if in protest, as if he was saying, ‘how dare you Bucky leave his fur-covered ass in the apartment’._ _

__“You can’t go with me where I’m going,” Bucky said. “What am I supposed to do, leave you outside? You’re not exactly capable of defending yourself like this. What if someone’s heard about what happened to Captain America and decides to try their hand at taking you down. What are you gonna do, lick them to death?”_ _

__Steve silently stared him down in response._ _

__“Stay,” Bucky said sternly, and now he definitely felt like an asshole, but really, what else was new?_ _

__Steve barked as Bucky left, and the noise quickly switched to a long, drawn-out whine as the door banged shut. Bucky fought the very strong urge to turn around and talk this all out with Steve, to explain himself. But a louder, more insistent part of him insisted that Steve had never talked a damn thing through with him in their entire lives. If he had, then maybe Steve wouldn’t have ended up twice Bucky’s size and the poster-boy for the US army. And maybe Bucky would have died on that table in Austria. Maybe a lot of things would have been different._ _

____

\---

____

__The trip was quick, just a train stop and short walk later and he was there. Late actually, because of the whole thing with Steve. He furiously told his stomach to unclench from its guilty knot as he thought about Steve’s face when he shut the door, and instead focused on what was in front of him._ _

__Bucky pushed open the creaky metal door, making sure to use the half of the double doors without the broken hinge. There wasn’t enough money for programs, let alone for upkeep, which was not exactly a surprise in this neighborhood, what with the VA already stretched so thin. But the building does the job all the same._ _

__In the hallway he nodded in deference to someone he recognized. Bucky saw him every week, though he has yet to learn his name. He’s not sure that it matters in the end. The man nodded back. He was at least in his eighties, quiet, his face sunken with age, and his eyes looked like he’d lived at least twice Bucky’s lifetime._ _

__“Late today.” His voice was like gravel._ _

__Bucky shrugged and gave him a half-smile, a kind of ‘what can you do?’ motion._ _

__Bucky quickly reached the end of the hall and quietly slipped in through the cracked door. He stood at the back, next to a beat up old folding table set up with an ancient coffee pot and cookies that were at least a week old. He knew from experience that the coffee barely qualified to be called that, but it was awful in the familiar way that traffic jams and stubbing your toe were. Terrible, but comfortably so._ _

__The first sip scalded his tongue, but he drank it anyway as he looked on. The meeting was an eclectic mix of people; old and young, quiet and loud, scarred and whole. They were all veterans though, and they were all here for something they couldn’t find anywhere else._ _

__Sometimes Bucky felt like a fraud here. He knew _he_ was the thing in the dark that so many of these men and women feared. But there was also a kinship here that he couldn’t explain. And maybe, he thought as he listened to a kid who looked too young to drive, let alone join the army, talk about his second deployment, maybe it didn’t need to be explained. Maybe that’s the point of these meetings in the first place. The coffee and comradery were just window dressing. The real reason they were all there was because if they didn’t say something they’ll start screaming and they’ll never stop; that telling their stories to strangers is better than not telling them at all._ _

__There was nodding and murmuring as the boy finished speaking, and a tired-looking middle-aged woman took his place. She looked like a soccer mom, but Bucky knew from past meetings that she had night terrors about the men she’d killed._ _

__She spoke, something about her son, but Bucky missed the next few words as a sound from the cracked door behind him caught his ears._ _

__“Well, aren’t you handsome?” a voice cooed from the hallway, and immediately Bucky just _knew_._ _

__He slammed his half-drunk Styrofoam cup of coffee down on the table. Hot liquid sloshed over the rim and soaked into his glove as he made a quick exit._ _

__He was boiling mad already as he entered the hallway. Just like he knew he would, one of the first things he saw was a large, furry dog, who was about to be a dead, furry dog if Bucky had any say in the matter. Steve, to his credit, realized immediately, and shrank back, tucking his tail between his legs and letting out a soft whimper._ _

__“Oh, hello dear.” It was the woman who ran the front desk. Bucky’s best guess put her in her sixties, with her cat-eyed reading glasses and love of floral prints. She reminded him vaguely of someone’s crazy aunt. “It’s the strangest thing. This little guy just wandered in off the street. Just followed someone in through the door like he owned the place.”_ _

__Bucky had to work to not raise his eyebrows at the phrase ‘little guy’. It had been at least 80 years since that term had been applied to Steve Rogers. If only she knew._ _

__Still standing in the hallway, Bucky didn’t immediately do what he really wanted to do. He liked this place, loath as he was to admit it, and didn’t feel like burning any bridges today._ _

__“Sorry.” He forced a tight smile and reached out to put a hand (his metal hand, hidden by a coffee-soaked glove) on the scruff of Steve’s neck. He surreptitiously tightened his fingers and just dared Steve to yelp. “He’s mine. I have no clue how he got out. Sorry if he caused any trouble.”_ _

__The woman looked confused, but he cut off anything she might have been about to say by yanking Steve down the hall._ _

__“See you next week.” He forced his smile even wider, and it was probably approaching serial-killer territory by now. Maybe he’d have to find a new place after all. He nodded at her and at the old man as he pulled Steve bodily from the building. At one point he definitely yanked harder than was strictly necessary, and he got a handful of fur for his trouble._ _

__Bucky got them all the way around the corner of the building and away from anyone who might be watching before releasing Steve, who immediately shook himself free and turned to huff angrily at Bucky before twisting around to nose at his mussed fur. He flattened it with his muzzle until he was apparently satisfied, and then turned and huffed again, ears flicking back and forth and tail held straight up in the air._ _

__Bucky’s rage was blinding, and for a second he _wished_ for the calm, cool veneer of the Winter Soldier. Fortunately (or unfortunately) for Steve, all he was going to get right now was plain old Bucky Barnes. A deep breath, and then another controlled the anger, but just barely. And finally, when he could form words, he said (yelled), “Why the _fuck_ were you following me?!”_ _

__In response, Steve’s ears flattened and his tail went even tenser. He growled, showing off his sharp teeth. His eyes flicked from the building to Bucky and back again._ _

__“Don’t you fuckin’ growl at me,” Bucky bit out. “You got no fuckin’ right! _None_.”_ _

__Steve growled again in defiance and spread his paws wide, grounding himself as if for a confrontation. Well, Bucky refused to give it to him, because Bucky was his own person, and had his own goddamn choice, and he’d be damned if he was gonna give that away just because Steve fuckin’ Rogers was rarin’ for a fight._ _

__Without a word, Bucky turned and stalked away. Behind him, Steve barked loudly, again and again, the long chain of barks turning into a near howl as Bucky ignored him. He kept walking. He could hear Steve take off after him, the patter of his paws hitting the pavement as he caught up to Bucky’s retreating form. At one point he felt a paw brush against the back of his leg and the heat of Steve’s breath, and he said angrily, “Get the fuck off me, Rogers.” Steve barked sharply before falling back a few feet to follow him from a distance._ _

__They continued like that for a few blocks, Bucky walking ahead, cap pulled down low over his eyes, stewing angrily while also secretly marveling at the fact that Steve had gotten out of his locked apartment without _hands_. Steve stayed behind him, keeping pace while letting out the occasional soft growl or grumble. The first time they came to a crosswalk flashing red, Bucky ground to a halt, and Steve stopped dead at his side. Both of them stared straight ahead, neither moving a muscle, neither willing to be the first to look at the other._ _

__“Wow!” breathed a young woman from beside him as she looked in wonder at Steve sitting stock-still on the pavement. “He’s so well-trained!”_ _

__“Yeah, well, he’s an asshole,” Bucky snapped as the crosswalk finally flashed green, and they left the stunned woman in the dust. He seemed to be doing a lot of that lately._ _

__Finally, they reached a small park, if you could call it that. It was more a patch of grass with a few benches and an enclosed basketball court than anything. Bucky swung himself down onto a bench. He wasn’t physically tired, but he was sick of running and he refused to do it another second longer. Two seconds later, Steve jumped up beside up. His large body radiated heat and he smelled like an old sock._ _

__“Fuck off,” Bucky said. Steve sneezed and dropped his head across Bucky’s lap. In return, Bucky pushed him off the bench. “What part of fuck off didn’t you understand, Steve? You either can be smart enough to get of the apartment without opposable thumbs or you can be dumb enough not to understand English. You don’t get both.”_ _

__Bucky crossed his arms over his chest and turned away, fully aware he was now crossing into the realm of pouting. Once again, he ascertained, _he had the right_. Steve pawed at his arm and Bucky slouched down further into the bench, hiding his face beneath the brim of his hat. Steve whined, and then there was a dull _thump_ as he turned and whacked his tail into Bucky’s leg at full force._ _

__Bucky closed his eyes and counted slowly to ten. He was still angry, but it was fading. He could start to look at things more objectionably now, more rationally. He had lost it. Okay, that much was obvious. But why? Why didn’t he want Steve to know? It wasn’t embarrassing that he went to the meetings. He wasn’t ashamed of trying to heal. So then why-_ _

__A wet, cold nose pushed into his hand, and something solid dropped at his feet. Bucky opened his eyes and the first thing he saw was Steve’s face, covered in bits of grass and leaves. His eyes readjusted and he looked down at his feet to see what had probably once been a yellow tennis ball, but was now an indeterminable shade of brown._ _

__Bucky recognized the ball as what it was. A peace offering. An apology, perhaps. He took one last deep breath, filling his lungs with late-Spring air, and then let it all go. He reached down and picked up the ball. It was wet. Of course it was._ _

__“This is fuckin’ disgusting. Where did you find it, the sewer?” Steve smiled a big, slobbery doggy smile at him, his tongue lolling in his mouth, and Bucky rolled his eyes at him. “Fine,” he said. “But don’t blame me when you come down with the plague.”_ _

__The afternoon sun beat down on them, just this side of pleasantly warm. Sweat gathered under Bucky’s collar and around his wrist. Nearby, the steady beat of a basketball on the court provided a tempo for the sounds of the city around them. Bucky threw the ball and watched as Steve bounded happily after it. He seemed happy to just… be a dog, just for the moment. Lost in the sheer bliss of chasing a dirty old tennis ball in the sunshine. Bucky thought he understood the appeal._ _

__He threw it further and longer, until Steve was panting and content, and Bucky couldn’t help the smile on his own face. Eventually, Steve dropped the ball and jumped back up on the bench to collapse onto Bucky’s lap. This time Bucky did not push him off. Instead, he absent-mindedly stroked the sweaty fur between his ears and looked around, gathering his thoughts._ _

__“I’m sorry for yelling at you,” he finally started. Steve sneezed loudly into his thigh. “…and for calling you an asshole,” Bucky acquiesced. “But you shouldn’t have followed me. I have a right to some privacy.” (Bucky conveniently left out the part where he’d been slipping his tracker- they could cross that bridge when they came to it.)_ _

__At his words, Steve lowered his ears in apology and dug his snout further into Bucky’s thigh. They sat there in silence, and then-_ _

__“I’ve been going to the meetings there for about a month.”_ _

__Steve’s ears flicked and he looked up at Bucky from under furry brows, but he didn’t seem particularly inclined to move away from Bucky’s hand that was now scratching idly behind his ears._ _

__“It’s- nice isn’t the word. But it helps. I’ve never spoken, but they let me listen and- it helps.” He left it there, and something in Steve’s eyes told him he understood. “I don’t know why I’ve been hiding it.” Bucky laughed without humor. “Guess maybe I’ll always be a mess, huh?”_ _

__Suddenly, Steve pushed up onto his paws, startling Bucky. Before he knew what was happening, Steve had shoved his way into what probably passed for a dog-hug, as much as he could manage with arms that bent the wrong way. Bucky accepted it with open arms, and buried his face into Steve’s sweat-damp fur._ _

__“Let’s go,” he said, his voice muffled by Steve’s skin. “I got better shit to do today than sit around and play fetch all day long.”_ _

__Despite his words, they stayed that way for at least another minute, and if Bucky’s eyes were a little bit wet when they parted, well it certainly wasn’t like Steve could say anything about it._ _

____

\---

____

__He let Steve stay with him as he went about the rest of his day, and the whole thing was, dare he say it, kind of nice. They ran a few errands that Bucky grudgingly admitted needed doing, and stopped again at the deli for lunch. The gruff man behind the counter even slipped a little extra onto Steve’s sandwich, though his face remained as stony as ever._ _

__There was another quick run out to the hardware store when Bucky saw the mess Steve had made of his lock that morning. At least this time Steve had the decency to look sheepish as Bucky drilled the old, broken lock out of the slightly mangled wood._ _

__There was still no sign of the cat, so Bucky cracked open another tin of wet food and left it in a bowl outside the apartment door. After spending twenty-four hours with Steve, he certainly didn’t blame her for running at the first sight of him, but he still didn’t want her to go hungry._ _

__Their bedtime routine remained the same, minus Bucky’s midnight trip. Once again he made up the couch with the pillow and blanket for Steve, and once again Steve stared disdainfully at the makeshift bed and whined when Bucky firmly twisted the lock to his bedroom door. That night, when Bucky woke up, breathless from running from creatures that all wore human faces, he heard the sounds of Steve pawing and scratching at the door. Like the coward that he was, Bucky laid there frozen in the dark until he heard Steve go back to the couch and he was left alone with only the steady _thumpthumpthump_ of his own heart._ _


	4. Chapter 4

For once, Bucky wasn’t woken in the morning by nightmares.

He was woken by barking, and lots of it, loud and alarming. Bucky was up and out of bed, his body reacting before his mind had even had time to process what was happening. He took stock of the situation quickly, one hand clicking off the safety on the pistol he’d grabbed from under his pillow.

In his living room, Steve was flattened low, belly almost touching the ground as he alternated between low growls and barks. His hackles were raised, the fur standing up in a ridge along his spine, and his lips were pulled back with his teeth bared in all their sharp glory as he snarled in the direction of the front odor.

“What’s going on?” Bucky asked quickly, steadying his gun.

The only answer he got was a fresh wave of barking. Obviously he’d get no help from Steve. There was no knocking, no unusual noise as he approached the door, which still bore deep claw marks from Steve’s (successful) escape attempt the day before. Bucky pushed the door aside slowly, ready, expecting the worst. Maybe he’d been right. Maybe someone _had_ heard about what’d happened and they’d decided that this was the time to try their luck with the first Avenger. _Well_ , Bucky thought, _they picked the wrong fuckin’ apartment_.

The door swung open fully, the knob hitting the opposite wall, and in slinked... the cat. She twisted around his ankles, purring loudly and mewing for attention. Behind him, Steve went nuts. Quickly, before his landlord decided that Bucky wasn’t worth the trouble, he slammed the door closed and leaned against it. In one hand, he held the gun loosely in his grip, and with the other he rubbed hard at the bridge of his nose, feeling severely under-caffeinated for what was currently happening in his life. He breathed deeply, in through his nose and out through his mouth, before turning.

“Hey Kujo, you wanna use your inside voice for a bit, or are there some people over in Manhattan you still haven’t woken up yet?”

Ashamed, Steve crept backwards, ears pinned flat to the top of his head and tail tucked despairingly. His eyes stayed trained on the cat though Bucky noticed with grim amusement. The cat, for her part, purred all the louder, the vibration reverberating through Bucky’s bones.

“Hey, Cat,” Bucky knelt down to greet her. She bumped up against his hand for acknowledgement, and then stalked off towards Steve, head held high and tail swishing delicately back and forth. Steve growled softly as she approached, and her ears- one whole and one tattered- twitched twice as she came to a stop nearly a foot in front of Steve.

Slowly, Steve began to approach her, each step smaller and more hesitant than the last. Finally, after what felt like hours, he lowered his head to sniff at her cautiously, and that was when she struck. Hissing loudly, the cat lashed out with claws extended at Steve’s sensitive nose. He yelped and scampered backwards into the couch. Bucky watched in near-wonder as she then proceeded to sit and daintily lick her paw clean.

Bucky found himself laughing so hard at the wounded expression on Steve’s face, he couldn’t catch his breath. He tried to stop himself as Steve whined in protest, but it only made him laugh harder. His abdomen hurt with the effort, and tears formed in the corners of his eyes. God, it’d been ages since he’d laughed like that. He can’t even think of the last time he would’ve.

“I am _never_ ,” he wheezed out between laughs, “letting this go. I am going to remind you of this every single chance I get. _Every single chance_.”

He was still laughing, Steve looking more offended with every second that passed, when there was a hesitant knocking at the door. At the unexpected noise, the cat bolted off to parts unknown; probably the back of Bucky’s closet to tear up the rest of his shirts she hadn’t already gotten to. Steve barked and sniffed the air, then cocked his head and sniffed more aggressively, eyeing the door like it might swing open on its own.

Bucky was just getting to his feet. He’d never reengaged the safety on his gun, and had it up and ready and once again pointing in the direction of the front door. He’d been awake for less than twenty minutes, and already he was considering going back to bed for the day. Wistfully, he thought about simpler times, when all he’d had to deal with was brain-washing domestic terrorists. At least that had been more restful.

He nearly lost his balance as something- Steve, _of fucking course_ \- went racing past him in a rush of long limbs and scrabbling paws, all previous injury to his pride clearly forgotten. He was barking again, but this time there was an air of eagerness to the sound, and he was nearly buzzing out of his skin from excitement.

Bucky hesitated, but then put away the gun, which- hey, progress on his part thank you very much. He should get a fucking medal for his restraint. Steve scratched urgently at the already badly damaged door, the sound of his nails against wood grating on Bucky’s eardrums.

“Get off, ya big idiot,” Bucky muttered, pushing him off the door by way of a hand on his snout. Steve wasn’t phased in the least. He bounced back immediately, long, pink tongue hanging sideways out of his mouth, and paws doing little tip-taps of impatience on the floor.

Finally, Bucky opened the door to find… Barton. Which, okay, probably shouldn’t have been a surprise given how he’d looked the last time Bucky had seen him. Currently Barton had a look of uncertainty written clear across his face, like he wasn’t sure if he was supposed to be here at all. But then again, maybe he always looked like that? Bucky hadn’t spent enough time around him to know the difference.

What he did know, however, was the face of a man who had come somewhere without a plan of action. Barton was frozen on the spot, hands stuffed deep in his pockets and elbows locked tight, one scuffed sneaker rubbing circles on the cement floor of the landing. Internally, Bucky counted to 30, giving Barton time to collect himself and maybe start to say his piece. Maybe he was here to finally take Steve with him. Something deep in his stomach twinged at the thought, but Bucky shoved it aside.

“Hey,” Barton said, after what had been a decidedly awkward amount of time. Steve, who had apparently decided that he’d waited long enough for attention, barked sharply. _Wow, he’s really leaning into this whole dog thing_. Bucky didn’t roll his eyes, but only just barely. Barton gave Steve a pained smile. “Hey man,” he said.

The guilt rolled off him in waves. It was palpable, following him like a spectre. Maybe others couldn’t see it, but Bucky knew guilt. He had made intimate bedfellows with it long before Barton had even been born. He knew the difference between a guilty man and a man who felt guilt, and he knew there wasn’t really a difference at all. And Barton looked like shit. There were shadows under his eyes and day-old scruff on his cheeks. Bucky doubted he’d slept recently. Part of him had hoped that Barton had gotten past it; of all of them Barton annoyed him the least.

But still, that didn’t change what had happened. Barton hadn’t watched Steve’s back. Hadn’t done his _basic fucking job_ as a teammate, and Steve had gotten hurt. 

Well… sort of. But the point still stood. 

“Did you need something?” Bucky asked him, raising an eyebrow. Behind him, he could he could hear Steve grumble. Bucky remained stubbornly resolute. It was his house, and he was allowed to maintain his grudges against Avengers for as long as he wanted. Steve grumbled again and Bucky sighed. “Do you want to come in?”

Steve looked far, far too proud of himself. Bucky resolved then and there to do something terrible to him when he was back to walking on two legs again.

“Nah, man.” Barton scratched awkwardly at the back of his neck looking horribly uncomfortable, still standing at the threshold. “I’ve gotta be somewhere soon. I just thought I’d stop and…”

God, he could barely even _look_ at Steve. _Fuck this_ , thought Bucky, already exasperated at what he was about to do. Forget the medal, he deserved a fucking parade.

“You know what,” Bucky said loudly. Barton’s head snapped around as his attention was drawn immediately. Steve stared curiously at him. “I’m gonna go take a shower. Why don’t you come in. He didn’t even give Barton the choice, and instead grabbed him by the forearm with his metal hand and forcibly yanked him into the apartment “Hang out Steve for a bit. Make sure he doesn’t chew on the furniture or something.”

“Is that a-“

Barton looked alarmed, but Bucky was already shutting the bedroom door in his face.

\---

And hey, he _did_ take a shower. Sure, he could have listened in, but to be honest, he wasn’t entirely sure he would have even wanted to. What would be the point? This was someone Steve trusted with his life, more regularly than he’d ever even trusted Bucky. This was one of Steve’s friends now. There was something burning hot and deep in his abdomen. _It’s not jealousy_ , he reminded himself as he viciously scrubbed lavender-scented (for _calming_ , what a crock of shit) shampoo into his hair. It’s not jealousy. It’s just change. And Bucky’s dealt with change his entire life, whether he wanted to or not. Things change around him, and he adapts. That’s how it’s been and that’s how it will always be.

It was only a coincidence that it took him until he heard the click of the front door latch for him to be done getting ready for the day, and he’d fight anyone who dared to say otherwise. When he emerged into the living room, wet hair dampening his collar and starting to curl slightly in the early-summer humidity, Steve was sitting on the couch with a content look on his furry face, his eyes watching Bucky with interest. Barton was gone.

Just a coincidence.

“What’d’ya wanna do today?” Bucky asked. Steve cocked his head to the side in a comically exaggerated way and his tailed thumped rhythmically against the back of the couch. “All right,” Bucky said. “I can work with that.”

They ended up spending a lovely afternoon together, doing everything and nothing all at once. It had been ages since Bucky had talked to someone as much as he talked to Steve (and isn’t that just one of God’s greatest ironies). They walked until even Bucky’s feet were sore, and at one point he even picked Steve up to give the pads of his paws a rest from the concrete. For lunch, Bucky discovered a diner that stirred up some fragment of memory, and when he shared it with Steve, his barking confirmed it to be true. Bucky didn’t stop to think about the warm feeling in his chest or what it might mean.

The day was warm and humid and sticky. Clouds lingered overhead just off in the distance, threatening rain later and blanketing the city in a feeling of waiting, of expecting something. As beads of sweat rolled down his back, Bucky finally stripped off his jacket, revealing a plain t-shirt underneath... and the arm. Steve watched with an inscrutable expression as Bucky looked around, but no one batted an eye. Something inside him let go of something that he didn’t know he’d been holding.

They avoided going anywhere near anything like their old stomping grounds. It was still too painful. Still hurt too much to see the way things had changed, and even more painful to see the way in which things hadn’t changed at all.

The light was just starting to dwindle, twilight settling in soft and dreamy, when they started their walk home. The clouds that had been hovering just on the horizon had finally made their way overhead,were dark and puffy and fit to burst. The rain didn’t come in a torrential downpour, not right away. First, the city was drenched in a fine mist. The streetlights and shop lights came up as the last of the daylight faded away, and the haze cast a soft aura around everything like miniature halos.

The rain started coming down harder. Slowly the streets emptied as people scurried into buildings to escape the downpour or disappear under awnings or into cars. The ground was bright with reflected light as the neon and phosphor lights of the city shone back at them from the rain-soaked pavement. Steve trotted along beside him, his fur a sopping, sodden mess, but there was a wide doggy grin on his face. Bucky suppressed one of his own, the feeling foreign on his cheeks. He inhaled deeply and the scent of ozone filled his nose. The whole world felt fresh and clean in a way that it hadn’t since he was a child.

Bucky loved it.

“Hey,” he said, suddenly overcome with inspiration. Steve looked at him, wet fur plastered over his eyes. “Why don’t I cook dinner tonight? I can make chipped beef. Like back in the day.” Steve woofed softly in agreement and wagged his tail happily.

There was a run-down bodega close to his apartment where he did most of his shopping. Steve waited outside under the leaking awning as Bucky ducked inside to grab ingredients. From behind the plexiglass window the cashier gave Bucky a dirty look as he dripped water through the aisles, but Bucky pointedly ignored him. It wasn’t like he could control the damn weather. It was the work of a few minutes to pick out what little they’d need and head back out to Steve.

Back at the apartment building, they both left muddy water trails up the stairs and across the landing to Bucky’s apartment. Steve sneezed, and Bucky wished, not for the first time, that he at least had a towel or two. He’d never had a dog as a child, though he’d seen strays here and there in the neighborhood. They mostly hadn’t fared well in bad weather, and had almost all disappeared come wintertime. He shivered at the thought.

Once they were inside, Bucky let the bag of groceries drop onto the kitchen counter with a thump and then took a good look at Steve. He let out a long, low whistle that ended in a laugh. “You look like a drowned rat,” he remarked.

Steve squinted, clearly offended, which didn’t make the statement any less true. With every bit of fur clinging wetly to him, he looked like something out of a child’s nightmare.

“Well, maybe if you hadn’t felt the need to splash through every damn puddle you saw,” Bucky offered.

Steve huffed loudly, which Bucky took (he assumed rightly) as a very emphatic ‘ _fuck you_ ’. Steve then stalked to the middle of the room, looked Bucky dead in the eye, and shook. Water and fur flew everywhere, coating every surface of Bucky’s tiny apartment. The wet dog smell immediately intensified tenfold. For a second Bucky was stunned.

“I take back everything I said,” he finally said. “You _are_ an asshole.”

In retort, Steve hopped up onto the couch and sat his soaking wet, furry butt directly onto the cushions. For a moment, Bucky just stared, but then Steve smiled from ear to ear, his pink tongue hanging and tail wagging happily back and forth, still shedding drops of water in its wake. Bucky pursed his lips and shook his head, turning away quickly to hide the small smile that threatened to form on his face. He refused to give Steve the satisfaction.

“Captain America,” he muttered to himself as he began to unpack the groceries. “More like Captain Pain-In-My-Ass.” Behind him, Steve let out a soft _woof_ of agreement. “Well, at least you’ve never lacked self-awareness,” Bucky said drily.

There was a loud thump as Steve leapt off the couch and came trotting into the kitchen. It was a cramped space, barely enough room for Bucky, but Steve quickly made himself comfortable by the base of the fridge, lying down and resting his head on his front paws as he watched Bucky work.

After a tense few seconds of digging around in his cabinets and more than a few muttered curse words, Bucky pulled out his sole pan; a skillet with a sizable dent in it that looked suspiciously to be in the shape of someone’s skull. The gas burners on the stove took a few tries to light. It had admittedly been a while since he’d used them for anything other than a quick fire source; he didn’t do much cooking these days.

The stove flared to life, heating the small space quickly. He hadn’t bothered with the overhead light, so the kitchen was lit only by the glow of the streetlights outside and the light leaking in from the living room. The flame from the stove reflected in Steve’s eyes, dancing merrily as it heated the skillet.

Steve snuffled in approval as Bucky cut off a large pat of butter and tossed it onto the heated pan. Rain pattered endlessly on the window above the sink and ran in rivulets down the glass. On the street below a car honked, and downstairs someone was playing loud music. But inside Bucky’s apartment it was quiet, save for the sound of the butter sizzling on the stove and their own breathing.

Quickly, Bucky added in flour and stirred it to make a roux. As he leaned over the stove, watching his work carefully, the smell of butter and flour hit him and... there was _something_. There, just on the edge of his memory. Something soft; flower petals and a woman’s hands, his mother’s voice singing along to the radio on a Sunday afternoon, and-

A soft whine and Bucky landed hard back in the present. He was momentarily dazed. Then he looked around and saw the run-down apartment with its peeling paint and cracked flooring, Steve on the floor, fur drying fluffy in the heated air, and the spatula in his own hand.

Quickly, Bucky went back to stirring. He grabbed the milk and added it slowly, whisking all the time as the mixture thickened. Steve was quiet again, head back to resting on his paws and eyes closed. He breathed softly, in and out and in and out, to the point that Bucky didn’t know if he was asleep or not. Briefly, he thought about telling Steve the memory, small as it had been, but decided against it. He thought that maybe he might like to keep this one for himself, for awhile at least.

When the mixture on the stove had thickened to a desirable consistency and he’d added enough salt and pepper, Bucky grabbed the jar of dried beef off the counter. He tossed a few pieces to Steve, who gobbled them down happily, before dumping the rest in the pan and letting them heat for a while as he prepped the toast. After he had the whole thing separated on to two plates, he took them into the living room.

“There,” he said, sliding Steve’s plate onto the floor before settling onto the couch with his own. “Just like the army used to make it. Complain about it, and you’re getting puppy chow.”

It was a quiet meal, if you discounted the sound of Steve’s chewing, which was admittedly hard to do, but Bucky was trying not to hold it against him. The rain was still keeping up its steady downpour, and the constant _tap-tap-tap_ combined with the fullness in his stomach and the softness in his chest lulled him into a state of near-tranquility.

“Thanks…” Bucky had to stop to clear his throat before continuing, his voice coming out rough and far too emotional for his liking. “Thanks for today.” Steve cocked his head curiously as Bucky continued. “It’s been a long time since I had… Today was good. Thank you.”

Steve whined nervously, but Bucky didn’t stay around to deal with it. He quickly pushed himself off the couch, gathering their plates and hurrying to the kitchen. He busied himself with the dishes, ignoring Steve’s eyes on his back.

“I think I’m gonna catch an early night,” he said without turning around as he idly scraped at an already clean plate.

Steve was silent, watching from his place on the couch as Bucky hesitated, but in the end he locked his bedroom door before he went to sleep.

\---

The words opened a pit in his stomach, like falling out of a plane without a parachute or jumping off of a cliff with no bottom in sight.

“We’ve got it figured it out.”

“You did,” he said flat into the phone.

Out in the living room he could hear Steve’s snuffling snores, could practically imagine the feel of his hot breath.

“Come to the tower ASAP.”

The line went dead. Natasha had never been one to mince words. Bucky had always liked that about her until now. Beyond the door, Steve let out a particularly loud snore-sneeze and then settled back down. Bucky wondered what he dreamed about, and if it was any different than what he dreamed about when he was human. He hoped for Steve’s sake that it wasn’t anything like what Bucky saw in his.

Well, he supposed he’d get the chance to ask soon enough.

Dropping his phone to his pillow, Bucky stared straight ahead at the stained and water-marked ceiling above his head. He’d stared at it endlessly, every night since he’d moved in. Had the whole thing memorized, from the mold spot in the far corner to the stain right under the light that sort of looked like a boot if you squinted just right. The familiarity didn’t bring him any comfort now, not that he’d expected it would. His hands, metal and flesh, curled tightly in the sheets, his stomach roiling, mind racing.

 _Why?_ He’d never been able to lie to himself, not before Hydra and not after, and he certainly wasn’t going to start now. It was never going to last, this time with Steve. So then why does he feel like this? Like he’s lost something? He never wanted this, never wanted any of it, so why does losing it feel like it’s ripping a hole right through his guts?

And Steve, god _Steve_. What kind of friend could Bucky claim to be, laying there feeling sorry for himself when Steve’s been stuck in this body that isn’t his, not knowing when or how or even if he can be fixed? _The kind of friend that Steve doesn’t need_ , something that felt entirely like the truth whispered at the back of his mind.

There was moisture in the corners of his eyes as he shoved the sheets aside and got out of bed. The rain must have kicked up the pollen overnight.

\---

The trip to the tower was perfect. The sky after the storm was clear and bright, the temperature crisp and cool, more like fall than summer. There were people out and about, but everywhere they went, the sidewalks seemed to magically open up, the congestion on the city streets easing, because of course it was. Because of course, the one time Bucky wanted to take a long time to get somewhere, New York City is suddenly like the fucking Swiss countryside.

For the last time, he shook out the giant canvas bag as they boarded the subway car. Bucky hid his smile beneath the brim of his cap as Steve eagerly leapt into the bag on Bucky’s lap. Even Bucky had gotten used to the damn thing, and he had to admit that Steve’s warm, heavy weight on his legs was an odd comfort. He idly brushed the soft ends of Steve’s fur between his fingers as the car rocked back and forth and tried not to think beyond the next ten seconds.

Steve’s excitement was palpable. His chest heaved with his panting, sides moving in and out like an accordion as his eyes shone brightly. And why shouldn’t he be excited? He was getting his body back, his _life_ back. He was getting out of Bucky’s apartment, away from Bucky, away from all of Bucky’s baggage. Bucky knew, _he knew_ , he wasn’t being fair with that last part. It wasn’t a slight against him, but like a child, he let it hurt him anyway.

“Took you long enough.” Stark’s first words put Bucky’s already fraying nerves a thread away from full-on meltdown.

“Get a new line,” Bucky snapped.

Steve looked between the two of them, concern written across his features, and Bucky looked away, unable to meet his eyes.

They were somewhere new today, somewhere in the tower that Bucky had never been. The room was small, just four walls and a ceiling and a floor, all made of dull metal that Bucky suspected was highly reinforced. The thought of why it might need to be made his stomach turn and he tried not to think about it. There was a small computer panel recessed into the back wall, and Stark was standing there, flicking back and forth through some complicated looking equations with a man that Bucky didn’t recognize, who had a dark goatee and… a cape?

Bucky filed that one away to think about later.

Barton and Banner were missing, though he wasn’t surprised by that. He’d caught the news on a newspaper headline this morning as they walked; there’d been a large earthquake in Vietnam. He imagined they were probably there helping with the relief effort.

He was, however, surprised to see Natasha in the room, although he suspected that she may have been there as a buffer after she ignored both Stark and his snipping to say, “Steve, I don’t think you’ve met Stephen Strange yet.”

Steve strode forward and offered a paw to the man in the cape (yeah, it was definitely a cape, _weird fuckin’ dude_ ), which Strange shook like he wasn’t at all phased to be shaking paws with a dog. Bucky supposed it came with the territory when you wore a cape.

“Well look at that.” Tony clapped delightedly. “I guess you _can_ teach an old dog new tricks.”

Natasha rolled her eyes and ignored Tony, and Bucky loved her just a little for it. “Steve,” she said. “You ready to be back on two legs?”

At her words, Stark made some sort of waving motion at the computer, and the equations he’d been looking at magnified in size. All eyes turned to the shimmering number and letters as Stark began to explain, but Bucky tuned out. Instead he watched Steve, who was sitting at attention as if he was back in basic training with a drill sergeant breathing down his neck. Bucky felt something deep in his lungs hitch, like a stone skipping across water.

Turning on his heel he left, pushing at the door when the automatic motion didn’t go fast enough for his liking. He didn’t say goodbye, but it was better this way. Cleaner. Besides, it wasn’t like they were gone forever. It wasn’t like one of them was dying. They were still in the same city, for god’s sake! Everything was fine! It would all go back to normal. Everything would go back to being exactly the way it had been. He gulped past a sudden lump in his throat. _Exactly the way it had been_.

He made it all the way down the hall to the elevator before there was a flash of sickly red light behind him and the sudden feeling that the world had been tipped sharply on its axis. He fought back nausea as he put out his metal hand to the nearest wall to steady himself. Slowly, the world righted itself as the light faded, and there was a definite lack of gasping or screaming coming from the room he’d just left, so he figured everything must have gone as planned. He tried very hard to be happy about it.

Bucky had just stepped into the elevator when there was the pounding of feet behind him- real, _human_ feet- and suddenly Steve was sliding in just as the doors closed. Bucky was frozen, gaping like a fish out of water as Steve called out for Jarvis to stop the elevator. 

“What the-”

“Why did you leave?” Steve cut him off.

Bucky’s mouth was as dry as the desert. He was looking slightly up at Steve and it was the strangest thing. He could see Steve, but also the dog Steve had been still echoed faintly in the curve of his lips, the sharp slant of his nose. His eyes though, were all human. Bucky hadn’t realized how much they’d changed until now, inches away from where he was.

“Why did you leave?” Steve repeated insistently.

He was so close. Bucky could feel the heat of his skin. He took a step backwards and felt the firm solid steel wall of the elevator behind him. Its sturdiness was enough to disconnect him, sober him. “You didn’t need me anymore.”

Steve was _right there_ , in front of him. It had only been three days and it still hardly seemed real. He was dressed in a battle-worn Captain America suit, and the slightest remnants of smoke still clung to the fabric. Whatever Strange had done must have returned Steve to just before he’d been turned in the first place. He looked wholly unscarred by the incident, standing strong and sure and _way, way too fuckin’ close._

So of course, Steve closed the gap even more with his next sentence. Bucky was pressed practically flat against the wall now. He could feel sweat beading around his collar. Steve’s blue eyes were coals. “I never stopped needing you, Buck.”

Bucky couldn’t feel his fingers or his toes. He was pretty sure he wasn’t breathing. “Then why-”

“Bucky, when you got here you asked me to give you space,” Steve cut him off, the words rushing out of him like he’d been holding them back for a long time. “And I did. It tore me up inside, but I did it. I left you alone. But I thought that once you’d, I don’t know, had some time, you’d come back. That you’d want to, if not be… then at least be _friends_ , but you never... You just stayed away, and I don’t know what... I’m _trying_ , Buck. I’m trying to do what you wanted.”

A million things raced through Bucky’s head in an instant. He thought of the last year, of the struggle to put himself back together piece by piece and the loneliness of it. He thought of the last three days, of Steve’s silky fur under his hand, and the feeling of warmth in his chest, a peace deep in his soul. Inches from him, Steve watched, face screwed up in pain and confusion. Slowly, Bucky raised his eyes to Steve’s and held them steady.

“What if that’s not what I want anymore?”

And then Steve was kissing him, and it was everything Bucky hadn’t known he was missing. Steve’s lips were warm and slightly chapped and absolutely perfect and his hands were warm and steady on Bucky’s back and-

And it was over before it had barely even begun. Confused, Bucky raised an eyebrow at Steve. “That bad, huh?”

Steve laughed, and Bucky felt the sound settle down somewhere in his stomach, warm and welcome. “It was perfect. But maybe not here. I figure not even Nat can distract Tony for that long.” He looked at Bucky and smiled, pulling in for a quick kiss that sent an electric zing right down his spine. “Besides, we’ve got the rest of our lives to get this right.”

Bucky couldn’t help the grin, despite how corny Steve was being. “Yeah, I suppose we do.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading to the end! I hope you enjoyed it!


End file.
